


From the Hollow Sphere of the Sea

by ArcadianMaggie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Use, Human Louis, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Mer!Harry, Merman Harry, RPF, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:46:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcadianMaggie/pseuds/ArcadianMaggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, youngest child of the King of the Sea, develops a growing fascination with the land above the surface, even though it's forbidden to the merfolk. When he becomes enamoured of a beautiful human with golden skin, bright blue eyes, and ten pink perfect toes, he is unable to resist getting closer. A strange and unusual courtship ensues until, eventually, Harry is willing to risk losing everything to be with the boy he loves. Loosely based on Hans Christian Andersen's <i>The Little Mermaid</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic arose from a twitter conversation where I started out by suggesting that Harry sometimes has trouble walking because he's still getting used to his human legs after giving up his tail. And then when this lovely [fan art](http://akisdoodles.tumblr.com/post/77490000058/little-mermaid-au-inspired-by-this-beautiful-post) appeared on tumblr the very next day, I knew I had to write it. Thank you to my fic soulmate for life, [OnTheTurningAway](http://otta-ff.livejournal.com/), for the beta and to [fr333bird](http://fr333bird.livejournal.com/) for the Brit pick.
> 
> Title taken from Alfred Lord Tennyson's, _The Mermaid_ ([link](http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8601/8601-h/8601-h.htm#section34)).
> 
> Also on [**LJ**](http://arcadianmaggie.livejournal.com/19163.html).
> 
> * * *

Once upon a time there lived a beautiful mermaid under the sea. Her hair was dark like the ocean depths and her smile cut brighter than a sunbeam slicing through the film that separates sea from sky. When the King of the Sea saw her, it was love at first sight, and he set out to court her for his very own. Soon she was showered with strands of pearls, which she reluctantly accepted and wound through her hair, secured by strips of seaweed. Tournaments were held in her honour and the merfolk rode astride seahorses, clashing their tridents as they attempted to unseat their opponents. He held a feast, offering all the delicacies of the deep and she dipped her head shyly, but refused all his advances, for he was the King and she feared she was nothing more than a passing fancy. He had, after all, not even attempted to speak to her. With all the riches of the world at his disposal, he would grow weary of her and cast her away like the baubles he so recklessly threw her way. 

With a sad heart, the King stopped his relentless pursuit, realising he only seemed to be pushing his love further away. Once he ceased his ostentatious show, he was delighted when next he spied the pretty young maid, she gifted him with a priceless smile. This time his courtship was different—quiet swims to corners of his kingdom that were marvellous to behold; longs talks that left him tongue-tied and confused and more often than not, embroiled in spirited arguments where he would return to his underwater castle fuming with anger, but somehow more in love than ever before. When he declared he intended to make her his bride, she laughed in his face, the sound of which was somehow both the most beautiful and the most cruel he had ever heard. Each time he repeated the sentiment, she’d banish him from her company to his frustrated roars asking what he was doing wrong.

The answer struck him unexpectedly like a spear finding its mark after being shot from a harpoon, and he showed up to the reef she called home, devoid of entourage or gifts, and bowed his head, hands outstretched before him, asking her if she would please do him the honour of becoming his bride. When she slipped her hands in his, saying, “All you had to do was ask,” he thought his heart might burst. They wed in a ceremony fit for a King, and for a Queen—she allowed him to shower her with riches and jewels once she was convinced of his sincerity—and together they ruled the kingdom for many, many years. No one was more happy than he when his belly began to swell, and before long, he gave birth to a half dozen daughters, every single one as lovely as his beautiful bride.

Tragedy struck one ordinary day when his bride, lured by her love of the world above the surface, swam too close to a sailing vessel—so much faster and larger and different from ships of old with loud, unfamiliar moving parts—and was killed by a whirling propeller. The entire Kingdom went into mourning, devastated by the loss of their beloved Queen. In his grief, the King forbade the merfolk from venturing ever again up to the land of men. 

Only the tiny flutters in his belly were able to pull the King out of the blackness into which he had sunk. He cradled his growing middle as it swelled with life and smiled with a bittersweet joy when he gave birth to a son—hair as curly and thick as his lost love, although lighter in colour, but with eyes and a smile so familiar, he’d never be able to look at them without seeing his beloved’s face. 

He wanted to do right by the child, but each glance at the babe pierced his heart anew with grief. He threw himself into ruling his kingdom and surrendered the child to his daughters’ care, vowing to take a more active role in his son’s life once his grief had faded. Yet the years passed and the grief was still fresh and the child only grew more into his mother’s face. He was oft left neglected, much loved by his sisters, but each of them too involved in her own life to pay strict attention to the antics of a much younger brother. Not a one of them noticed how often he slipped off on his own, or saw him swim to the surface, or knew of his growing fascination with the world of men.

-o-

Harry watched the small girl covetously, eyes tracking her movements as she sat the doll in the chair next to her and selected a leaf from the ground to set on its head.

“There, Matilda. Now you’ve got a lovely hat, just in time for tea.”

The girl’s own head was adorned with a crown of flowers, stems split and the blossoms threaded through in a chain. Harry was eager to try and create one of his own. For now, though, he stayed quiet, hidden amongst the thick vegetation at the banks of the river while the girl pantomimed pouring liquid into non-existent cups. She brought her hand up to her face, little finger extended, and mimicked taking a sip. 

“Sarah,” a voice called from the house.

“Yes, mum?” the girl yelled back.

“Tea’s ready. Come inside.”

“But I’m having tea out here with Matilda,” the girl protested.

A woman appeared at the door, holding it open while she conversed with her daughter.

“You need to eat something. Come on in and I’ll let you bring a plate back outside.”

The girl jumped up from the child’s play table and said, “You wait here, Matilda. Mum’s made us some treats.” Then she ran to the house and disappeared inside. The door shut behind them with a loud thwack.

Harry moved closer to the shore, eyes darting round, heart pounding. When he was sure he was alone, save the watchful eyes of a nearby frog, he made his move. Hoisting himself onto the bank, he used his arms to propel his body, long tail dragging behind him, toward the table. Then he snatched Matilda out of her chair, hurried back to the water and disappeared from sight with a small splash before the leaf formerly on Matilda’s head had fluttered to rest on the now empty chair.

With the speed of a sailfish he swam to the mouth of the river where fresh water merged into salt then dived deep into the ocean, spiriting away his prize. Through the currents and under the waves he made his way to an opening in the rocks. Giving a strong flick of his tail, he disappeared inside, shadows swallowing his entry, and followed a narrow tunnel, barely wide enough for his shoulders. Before too long, the passage opened up and he rose to the surface, emerging in an open cave. The tall walls of his hidden fortress glittered with minerals embedded in the rocks—pinks and oranges and purples and blues. An opening to the sky beyond, high above, let in a pillar of light which shone like a spotlight on the sandy shore. 

Sometimes he liked to come to the cave to dream; he’d lie with his head resting on his arms, majestic tail stretched long, with only the tip of the fan trailing into the water. When he’d become too warm from the sun, he’d flip his tail up like a bucket and shower his skin with a splash of the sea. On nights when the moon was shy, the cave was illuminated by an array of bioluminescence, making the walls shine, and the small spring-fed pool in the far corner glimmer, and the gentle ripples lapping against the beach’s edge dance with a magical glow.

But as beautiful as his cave was beneath the rocks and beyond the sea, its riches paled compared to the treasures he’d secreted away within. Harry slid onto the sand and moved to the back of the cave, doll clutched tightly in his fist. As he approached his trove, he could feel the familiar wonder overtake him, a sensation he always experienced when he was amongst his collection. 

And what a collection it was! A metal fork with four sharp tines, a green glass bottle with a dark liquid inside sealed by a spongy stopper at the top of its neck, a cup with a small handle he knew the land dwellers used to drink something called tea. He could only imagine how this remarkable liquid would taste, but he knew it must be delicious; the humans enacted a daily ritual around its consumption with something akin to reverence. The sides of his cup were reed thin, but strong like coral. There was a chip on the edge, and a hairline crack down the side, but he could stare for hours at the image of the soft pink rose painted on the side, marvelling that something so beautiful was resting in his hands. 

Many more treasures lay in his cache, retrieved from sunken vessels at the bottom of the sea. Some he found on the beaches after people had gone home from their day in the sun—items forgotten or lost in the sand. Still others he’d collected like Matilda, stolen outright when temptation had proved all too strong. 

Harry examined the doll he’d gone to so much effort to acquire. Her appearance was a little worse for wear after her trip through the water. The hair on the doll’s head was now bedraggled and limp instead of sporting the soft golden curls she’d modelled before. Her formerly pristine dress with its full skirt now clung to her legs and drooped down her shoulder. But the smile on her face remained the same pretty one she’d worn while sitting in Sarah’s yard drinking imaginary tea, and her eyes were as bright and as blue as ever. 

Tugging the material of her dress away from her body, Harry attempted to repair her appearance. It was no use; he’d have to wait for the fabric to dry. In the meantime, however, he could offer her some refreshments while she grew accustomed to her new home. Lifting his prized tea cup, the one with the chip on the lip and the rose on its side, Harry tilted it towards Matilda’s face, just as he’d seen Sarah do. 

“One lump or two?” he asked, not at all concerned that he had no idea what the lumps even were.

She didn’t respond, but Harry was prepared; he’d been through this before. He glanced up at the statue tucked away near the back of his trove, the white marble gleaming. He’d found the sculpture of the boy while exploring an old shipwreck not far from his coral home. The piece was heavy and unwieldy, but he’d been enraptured by the face of the boy carved out of stone. Even more fascinating than his mysterious smile were his round curved buttocks and slim hips, the boy’s sex where his flesh split at his thighs, and the long legs ending in two graceful feet, each with five perfect marble toes. 

He’d wrestled the statue from out of the wreckage and somehow managed to transport it to his hideaway cave. For months he’d been consumed with his find, telling stories about his home beneath the sea, creating adventures the two of them would share, as if the boy were real. But the boy never responded, of course. His smile stayed fixed upon his face, never changing, never moving. Eventually, Harry had sighed mid-story. 

“I wish you were real,” he’d whispered, chin resting in his fists.

The boy didn’t answer.

Harry loved his family, and his coral home, and all the merfolk, and the creatures beneath the sea, but he’d often felt as if he didn’t quite belong. He knew he was different; he had little interest in learning to fight, an endeavour in which most of the male merfolk took great pride. He loved his sisters fiercely, but at times it seemed he was like Matilda to them—a great doll they could play with and dress up at will. Not that he complained. He loved when they twined his hair with flowers and bedecked him with sparkling jewels. His father was the King, of course, and always occupied with matters of state. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t make time for Harry if Harry requested; he’d never felt that way. But he could see his presence made his father sad. He understood the reason, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to realise he was the cause of someone else’s pain.

So he’d taken to going off on his own, trying not to become saddened himself when no one even seemed to notice he was gone. The ocean was vast and deep and for a time he’d explored far and wide, even places he knew he definitely ought not. He wasn’t so much brave and bold; more he was inquisitive. Curious. He learned from his sisters that prior to the King’s decree, the custom had been that at the age of fifteen years, freedom was granted to explore at will. He could listen for hours to tales they would tell about what they’d seen in the world above. The stories were so fascinating, he despaired he’d ever live to see such marvels himself. Desire grew within him, like sharp hunger gnawing at his belly, until it was all he could think about, the world beyond the sea. He’d ask his sisters to repeat their tales to the point of exasperation.

“Again, Harry?” they’d ask.

He’d look at them with his big beseeching eyes, and they’d sigh, very put-upon, but indulgent nonetheless, spinning wonders from words about the magical things they’d seen.

“Just like mother,” Gemma, his favourite sister, would say, a fond smile on her face, tugging one of his curls before recounting her tale for the umpteenth time.

He wanted to talk about their mother, hear again the stories about how beautiful she was, how much she loved to swim to the surface, follow the ships that sailed upon the sea, but he knew that would only make his sister sad. Instead he’d ask, “Do you miss it? The world above?”

She’d sigh, a wistful expression on her face. “Sometimes.”

“What do you miss the most?”

“The moon,” she’d answer. “The stars above.”

And he’d listen while she described the beauty of the night sky, stars strewn like a wave across the vastness of space.

“The birds,” another sister would answer to the same question. “They fly through the air like the fish swim in the sea. And they make such pretty music, not as beautiful as our own, of course. But lovely in their own way, each kind having its own song.” 

“The towns,” still another sister would reply. “At night you can see them lit up like stars. And if you swim close to the shore, you can hear all the people. There’s so much to listen to—laughter, conversation, music, even traffic.”

“Traffic?”

“The humans move around on land by riding in machines. Their legs are too short and too weak to allow them travel as fast as our tails let us swim in the water. On the sea they use boats and ride on the waves. But on land they have metal boxes with round feet that carry them where they want to go. They call them ‘cars’ and when they move, they make a loud growling noise. And when they travel in groups, they call them ‘traffic’.”

“Like a school of fish?”

“Yes,” his sister nodded. “Just like that.” 

“Cars. Traffic,” Harry said softly to himself, letting the unfamiliar words roll over his tongue.

And then one day, after following a sperm whale for an afternoon and witnessing its epic battle with a giant squid, he realised the water around him was growing brighter and brighter. So intent had he been on observing the creature, Harry had barely noticed they were swimming towards more shallow water. Nearly an hour had passed, maybe more; of course it was in need of air. Looking upwards, Harry saw a bright glowing object and knew it must be the sun. A shadow flitted past, quickly and then it was gone, and he knew a bird had just flown overhead. 

Stopping his pursuit, he floated in the water below the surface, but so close, one swish of his tail would propel him to the world beyond. He knew it was forbidden; he was not yet even fifteen years of age. But the temptation to see what had captured his mother’s imagination so strongly it led to her death, to see the marvels of his sisters’ tales, was too much for Harry to resist. Without giving himself time to think, to consider whether or not he actually should, Harry gave his tail a mighty flick and sped towards the light.

His head broke through the surface and he blinked against the glare. He gasped as the gills in his neck lay flat and his windpipe opened up and his lungs breathed in air for the very first time. He flinched against the sounds that assaulted his ears—the spray of the water from the blowhole of the whale, the lapping waves of the ocean, the harsh cries of the birds soaring overhead. But even with these confusing sensations, his entire body thrummed with excitement and he was filled with wonder. 

A pod of dolphins came to investigate, whistling their joy that the merfolk had returned, and Harry didn’t have it in his heart to tell them the truth. But he spent the next few hours playing with them, learning to leap into the air and dive in a graceful arc, how to float on his back and bask in the sun. The dolphins laughed at his antics and a noise tore from Harry’s throat that he recognised as laughter of his own. He marvelled at how different everything sounded out in the open air.

When the sun began to dip back to the water’s edge, Harry knew he’d best get back. Reluctantly, he made his goodbyes and promised to come again soon, knowing full well it might not be a promise he’d be able to keep. But when he returned to the castle under the sea, once again, his absence had gone unmissed. For once, his usual loneliness was supplanted by a sense of elation and excitement. His secret was safe.

After that day, he’d swum to the surface whenever he could. The dolphins and he became old friends. He learned the shipping routes and migratory paths of the birds, discovered the towns and the beaches at the water’s edge, and he spied on the humans wherever he could. 

He’d made his refuge in his hidden cave and filled it with beautiful objects, each a priceless treasure to him, even ones he knew the humans discarded away—a tin can with Dr. Pepper written on the side, a broken mirror, an old rubber tire. He had an especial fascination with shoes—boots, flip flops, high heels, trainers. There’d been more than one human who’d returned from the beach without a matching pair. Every item had a story, a tale he’d made up about its origins, the things it had seen, the varied places it had been. 

Propping two of his footwear favourites against his tail—a chartreuse trainer and a suede boot—Harry cocked his head and imagined his tail was split in two. He imagined what it’d be like to walk on the ground, to head inland away from the sea. He wondered how far one could walk before needing to rest. Dolphins could swim almost indefinitely at a comfortable cruising speed, shutting down half their brain at a time when they needed sleep. Strong swimmers as well, the Merfolk, however, enjoyed their rest, spending long hours of their day safely asleep. In fact, the hours they slept almost equalled the ones spent awake. From what Harry had gathered, humans fell somewhere in between. Once the sun went to bed, the humans soon followed. 

Noting that the sun had already started its descent, Harry looked at Matilda and said, “We better get you to sleep.” 

He picked up the doll, moved over to his treasure trove and poked around for a suitable nest. The small chest filled with gold doubloons was the right size, but Harry feared the jumbled mess of coins would be uncomfortable and far too noisy for a little girl trying to sleep. Digging through a trunk, he found just the thing to solve the dilemma—a large scarf which he folded in quarters and placed over the treasure. He set Matilda on top of the scarf then found another to place another across her body, the edges tucked against her sides. Cocking his head, he looked at the doll thinking something was missing. A pillow, that’s what it was. A third scarf, this one made of silk, was quickly folded in quarters and then in quarters again, and placed under the back of Matilda’s head.

“I hope you won’t be scared,” Harry said. “I can’t stay. But Jonny will keep you company,” he added, referring to the marble boy. “I’m very happy you’ve come to stay.”

Pausing, as if listening to Matilda’s imaginary response, Harry nodded his head.

“Of course, I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I’ll sing you a song, so you have sweet dreams. Goodnight, Matilda,” and Harry leaned over to kiss the doll’s rosy cheek.

He opened his mouth and a song poured forth, a song about the beauty of the ocean and the denizens of the deep. He sang of the coral reef and the kelp, meadows of eelgrass, the fishes in the sea. He sang of the dolphins at play and the taste of salt. And he sang out his heart in words decked with seaweed. Of the power of a merfolk song Harry was well aware. Many a tale he’d been told about sailors held in thrall. Maybe he was being unfair, unleashing such beauty upon little Matilda’s ears, but he hoped that by listening, she’d be convinced to stay. 

When his song was done, Harry whispered one final “goodnight” to his new little friend. Then he moved back to the water’s edge, raised his arms for the dive, and disappeared with a small splash.

-o-

Harry peered up at the bottom of the Sunseeker, thrilled when the craft slowed to a stop. He was more used to seeing the rigid-inflatable boats filled with tourists out here, coming to view the famous rock formation, Durdle Dor. The luxury vehicles usually sailed past and anchored in Lulworth Cove. Poking his head out of the water, he listened to the voices onboard.

“I want to go ashore. Have a kip on the sand.”

“Here? It’s swarming with tourists.” The boy’s voice had a musical lilt to it.

“Why don’t you just take a kip down below?” a third boy asked.

“C’mon, guys. You’ve been saying that at every good beach we pass. I barely got any sleep last night, thanks to you two. I’ve no idea how you can keep going for all hours and not be dead tired today. And it’s far too nice to be below. I could use some solid ground under my feet. Don’t exactly feel fantastic today. Still a little hungover, to be honest. Not used to drinking so much. Besides, Loki could use the exercise.”

The boy with the appealing voice—the tone was unusual, notable—spoke again. “We’ll stop at Lulworth Cove. Anchor down. Maybe grab a bite somewhere.”

“No. I’m ready to stop now,” the first boy insisted.

“C’mon, Liam. It’s not that far.”

“It’s far enough. I really need off this boat.”

“Fine. No one’s stopping you. Maybe we’ll be back to pick you up later.”

“What the fuck’s your problem, Tommo? Should hide your weed, if you’re going to act like this—” Liam said as the other boy cut in with, “Don’t be an arse. No reason we can’t stop here. Not like it’s going to be tourist-free in Lulworth.”

The voices faded as the three boys argued about the situation. Before long, there was a loud splash, then a second. Harry barely had time to duck out of sight around the side of the yacht. 

“Race you,” the one with the pretty voice called, and then two figures were swimming towards the shore. Surprisingly, the smaller, less muscular one was speeding ahead of the other boy. Harry wondering who was whom.

The third boy, not-Liam, not-Tommo, was very carefully manoeuvring a tender into the water. He wore swim trunks and a life vest. A dog barked down at him from the deck as he made his way down the ladder. Once he was settled in the small craft, he called up, “Come on, Loki! Jump!”

The dog barked again, but stayed on board.

“Come on, boy! You can do it,” the boy coaxed. “Come on!”

With a wiggle, then a jump, then a splash, the dog landed in the water alongside the tender.

The boy winced as he was sprayed by the sea. “Fuck, that’s cold.” But he reached over to help haul the paddling dog into the dinghy. Once inside, the dog shook out his fur, water droplets flying everywhere. The boy yelped again, cursing.

With a growl, the small motor on the back of the tender roared to life and the craft headed towards shore.

Harry followed its progress, seeing it veer to the far edge of the beach, close to the Dor side and as far away from the crowd as possible. The two swimmers had made it to shore and Harry watched as the smaller one stood in the shallows and shook out his hair, just like Loki, a peal of laughing ringing out. The musical sound carried over the water and Harry was enchanted. So that one was Tommo. The strong one must be Liam. He still didn’t know the name of the boy in the boat.

When the tender neared the shore, Tommo waded back out into the water to help push the boat onto the sand. Loki jumped out and bounded towards Liam, shaking out his fur again and running enthusiastically around his legs.

The boy in the boat caught Liam’s attention with a shout, then tossed him a towel. Then he grabbed a small cooler, a Frisbee, and a few more towels before stepping onto the shore.

Intrigued by the trio and wanting a closer look, Harry dove under the water and swam to the far side the beach, all the way through the opening in the rock formation and to the back side of the Dor. He peered around the edge, keeping out of sight of all the people on the beach.

Liam was stretched out on his back lying on a towel, an arm folded across his eyes. The third boy was sitting next to him, digging through the cooler. Tommo was tossing the Frisbee to Loki, laughing as the dog leaped to catch the flying object then chasing the dog as it played hard to get with its prize.

Harry was captivated. Tommo had such life to his movements, an energy that radiated off of him, like the sonar pulses of a dolphin’s laugh. His skin was a lovely shade of golden brown, clearly having been worshipped by the sun. As the boy ran on the beach, Harry was particularly fascinated by his legs—strong thighs, powerful movements, yet agile and graceful, with slim ankles, pretty feet. He wished he could see the toes up close, see the grains of sand cling to them, the nail at the top of each tip. If Tommo hadn’t swum to shore, Harry was quite certain he would already be planning the theft of his shoes. As it was, he had to be content to watch from afar. 

He wasn’t close enough to determine the colour of his eyes; nevertheless, he was able to soak up the sound of Tommo’s voice, catalogue the contours of his body, slim and curvy from the column of his neck to the dip at his waist, to the rounded shape of his arse. He couldn’t count his toes, but Harry was close enough to come to an incontrovertible conclusion in spite of the distance: Tommo was lovely. All together beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful boy Harry had ever seen.

Harry lost track of time. The afternoon sun had reached its zenith a while ago. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been observing the boys—hours, at least. All three of them had napped at one point or another. The boy who had brought Loki to shore, whom Harry now knew was called Zayn, was still asleep, curled on his side with a towel completely covering his face. Loki, who had also taken a nap in the sun, was currently chasing the Frisbee with Liam, who was seemingly refreshed from his earlier sleep. 

The one who had occupied Harry’s attention most frequently, though, had been Tommo. Harry had been riveted, barely taking his eyes off him. Everything about him was fascinating. The energy he had first noticed was in evidence even while the boy was asleep. His body had twitched as he had lain on his towel, as if it abhorred being kept from motion. Harry felt an inexplicable kinship with the boy; he wasn’t exactly sure why. He, himself, was quiet, a loner; Tommo was loud and boisterous, the life of the party. But there was something about him that Harry recognised. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was his curiosity.

Other beach goers had clearly been attracted to Tommo as well. Now that Harry had got a good look at all three of the boys, he could see that by human standards, they were all very attractive. The other people on the beach certainly seemed to think so. Several groups had made their way over to the far side of the beach, using the excuse of the Frisbee and Loki to start up a conversation. But Harry could tell, by the tilt of the girls’ heads, the coquettish stance of their bodies, that they were there for the purpose of flirting. Of all the human’s rituals, he found their mating rituals most interesting. Zayn, in particular, seemed to attract the majority of the visitors, undeterred by his air of general aloofness.

That’s not to say that Liam and Tommo didn’t attract their fair share too. Boys, especially, seemed to gravitate towards Tommo. A furrow appeared on Harry’s brow at each encounter Tommo had with an approaching male. He did flirt back; that much was apparent. Yet each interloper eventually returned to his mates when Tommo seemed disinclined to continue their interaction further. One gave a cheeky grin and a shrug of his shoulders saying, “You can’t blame me for trying.” Harry could, and did.

Right now, Tommo was alone and exploring the rocks, every moment coming closer to Harry’s hiding place by the Dor. Now that he’d seen Tommo in action, he realised it was inevitable that he’d make his way over, no chance he’d pass up the opportunity to swim through the Dor. The unique landscape feature was, after all, what drew people to this beach in the first place. Heart beating like the fins of a seahorse, Harry remained still as Tommo approached, determined to finally discover the colour of his eyes. But Tommo’s head remained down as he watched his footing, carefully picking his way over the rocks. Harry was captivated by the precision with which Tommo placed his feet, the grip of his toes on the rocks helping him keep his balance. Because of his efforts to get a better look at the beautiful human, Harry didn’t realise how far he’d drifted around the side of the Dor. When he sensed the shift in Tommo’s concentration and knew he was about to look up, it was almost too late for Harry to hide. With a splash, he dove into the water, just in time to avoid being seen.

He surfaced back on the other side of the Dor and carefully peered around the rock formation. Tommo was standing still, head cocked, as if trying to determine what had caused the splash. Apparently deciding that it was nothing of concern, he continued his way towards the Dor. They were so close. And Tommo’s eyes were blue.

Feeling as if he’d discovered a prize of immense value, Harry’s body thrummed with excitement. Having already pushed his luck, Harry dove again, burning off his frisson of energy with a fast and strong swim out to where the ocean was deep. He wanted to shout his discovery to the universe, sing a melody about the particular colour of blue, but he settled instead for a leap out of the water high into the air, knowing he was far enough out to be mistaken for a dolphin were anyone to catch sight of him.

Realising he’d be far too tempted to get close to Tommo again and likely risk discovery if he returned to the Dor, Harry stayed out in deep water. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the area, so long as their yacht remained anchored off the beach. Eventually, he saw the little tender make its way back and the boat, saw the boys climbing up the ladder and back on board, lifting Loki to safety. And then he watched as the Sunseeker pulled up anchor and moved through the water out to the open sea.

Harry followed at a discreet distance, loath to let Tommo slip from his life like krill through a fishing net. Maybe he could discover where the boat would dock, the place that Tommo called home. The sleek yacht, however, seemed to have no particular destination in mind. Instead, the motor was cut and they dropped anchor again, floating far from shore in the middle of the ocean.

Head popping through the surface once again, Harry swam around the boat, listening for voices, attempting to hear the conversation on board. Strains of music reached his ears, and the sweet pungent smell of smoke wafted under his nose. The sharp cry of a gull pierced the air and the ocean glowed with the rays of the sun, still bright, even as it dipped low on the horizon. Harry wondered if they intended to stay the night out on the water.

And then he spied them, hanging over the bow, dangling in the air: two perfect feet, attached to two perfect legs. He recognised them immediately. Tommo’s feet. Tommo’s toes. Ten of them, pink and rounded. First checking to make sure Tommo wasn’t looking—only his feet and legs were in sight—Harry swam closer. The appendages were even more remarkable up close. Each foot was delicately arched, the colour slightly lighter than the rest of the foot. The heels were somewhat rough, and Harry wondered what they’d feel like if he were to touch one. They were too far out of reach, however, which he noted to himself, was probably for the best. A movement from above caused him to tense in fear of discovery, but it was only Tommo’s hand, wrist resting on the rail. A cigarette of some sort, wisp of smoke trailing off the end, was held between his thumb and forefinger. 

Harry’s attention returned to Tommo’s feet. He counted the toes again, one through ten, delighted at their appearance, the small spaces between them, their plump padded perfection, the way the biggest curved upwards and the remaining four curled down and around towards the bottom of the foot. The toes were remarkable. Amazing. Delectable.

His eyes trailed over the rest of Tommo’s visible skin, the elegant ankles, one with a small black mark in the shape of a triangle inscribed on the side. Then his gaze travelled up to the shape of his calves, muscular yet slim, then to the knees that were folded over the side of the boat. He raised his eyes even farther up, back to the hand with the cigarette resting on top of the rail. And froze. Because Tommo’s hand was no longer the only part of his body leaning atop of the rail. No, now, Tommo’s arms were folded across it, chin resting on his forearms. And his bright blue eyes were staring down towards the water, right into Harry’s face.

Immobilised with shock, Harry could only stare back, eyes locked with the beautiful boy’s. Tommo’s face wore a puzzled expression, as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Briefly, he glanced away to the cigarette in his fingers and then back at Harry’s face. 

“Zayn, this joint laced with anything?” he called, keeping his eyes trained on Harry’s, not looking back at his friend as he asked the question.

“Not that I know of,” Harry heard Zayn reply. “’S good shit, though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tommo agreed. “Yeah, it really is.”

Damage done, Harry stayed where he was, directly below Tommo, taking in every detail while he could. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, making the blue stand out even brighter. His hair had dried into a messy fringe swept across his forehead. The bridge of his nose, his chin and his cheekbones were flushed pink from the sun, and his white pointy teeth made a nice contrast to his tanned skin and rosy lips. He was even more beautiful up close.

“Are you real?” Tommo asked, voice calm but curious.

Harry only stared.

After another few minutes of their staring match, Tommo called out to his friend again. “Zayn, can you c’mere a minute? Got something to ask you.”

Alarmed—it was one thing for Tommo to see him, that was bad enough, but for his friend too?—Harry was spurred into action. With a quick gasp and a swift flick of his tail, he tore his eyes away from the fascinating human and dove fast and deep, swimming away from the boat just as quickly as he could. When his heart rate calmed and he wasn’t still shaking from the unexpected encounter, he floated in the water, reliving the experience, thinking back on everything that had just happened. 

He could hardly believe it. And he didn’t regret it, no matter how forbidden such interactions had been decreed to be. No, he wouldn’t have traded those moments for any one of the treasures tucked away in his cave—not for pearls, nor silver, nor any sort of riches found in the castle under the sea. He wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. Because he had seen Tommo and Tommo had seen him. They had looked into each other’s eyes and shared silent communication that said: I know you. I know you exist in the world. And strange as it seemed, as impossible and unlikely and implausible as it was, Harry felt sure they’d been fated to meet.

-o-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while (a year and a half? what???) since I updated, but I've picked back up on this story and do intend to finish it. Special thanks to [**OnTheTurningAway**](http://otta-ff.livejournal.com/) and [**jessypt**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessypt/pseuds/Jessypt) for betaing this chapter and to [**fr333bird**](http://fr333bird.livejournal.com/) for the Brit pick!! Your suggestions were very helpful! I'll do my best not to wait so long between chapters next time!! Thanks for reading.
> 
> * * *

Louis slid open the glass door leading from the bedroom of his family’s beach house to the patio outside. He stood, hands wrapped around his mug of tea, staring out at the sea. A breeze carrying the smell of salt and sand ghosted over his skin, and he shivered, goose bumps pebbling his arms. At the edge of the horizon, the sun was just rising, tinting the water a soft, glowing rosy gold. In general, Louis was unused to being awake so early, having fallen into a pattern of staying out late, drinking or smoking with the lads, and then sleeping half the day away. Almost a week had passed since he’d seen his friends, however, the longest stretch in a while. Other matters had occupied his mind, entirely.

Or rather, one matter in particular—the face of a boy staring up at him from the middle the ocean, wide green eyes, pale skin, coral-pink lips, all framed by dark curly hair, wild like seaweed—an otherworldly, incongruous face. At first he’d been convinced he was hallucinating, as he’d been high as the clouds, relaxed and blissed out on Zayn’s killer weed. And if, perchance, someone had asked him to describe his dream companion, surely the boy he’d conjure would look something like this, this gorgeous untamed thing with a face from a vision. When he had seen the movement in the water, the long tail attached below the torso swishing back and forth, supporting the face above the surface, he was even more convinced this creature had materialized from the depths of his drug-addled brain, like a manifestation of his deepest desires, a secret buried deep and brought to life.

Yet… were hallucinations this vivid? He’d had a stint where he experimented with harder drugs; access was plentiful in the affluent circles he travelled. But for someone who liked to stay in control, they really weren’t his thing. He much preferred taking the edge off with a little weed. Even as he’d decided his mind was playing tricks on him, something about the situation had him doubt this conclusion. The boy had looked so _real_. Or not boy. The mermaid. Merman? Mer person? But he wasn’t actually a person, now, was he?

Well, whatever the creature was, maybe he should get high more often if this was what his brain could come up with, he mused thinking back on the encounter. Louis had given his joint an assessing gaze and mentally congratulated himself. When he’d looked back, he was rendered stock still as the boy’s eyes met his own. Louis’ chest had tightened, as if his heart had been gripped with an icy fist, or all the air had been punched from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Because when they’d locked gazes, Louis was acutely cognizant of the awareness radiating from those big green eyes, an otherness he’d instantly recognized as not coming from within himself. This wasn’t an intelligence borne from the depths of his active imagination; the intelligence staring back belonged entirely apart, separate and discrete from his own. 

At the same time, Louis had been consumed with an overwhelming sense of familiarity, as if they’d already met. Maybe they’d known each other in another life, or perhaps they’d met before in a dream. But the moment had felt more like a memory of someone he’d once known long, long ago, rather than a vision his mind had conjured while asleep.

Louis’ gaze had darted again at the joint he was holding, a quick glance, lickety-split, not wanting the boy to disappear in the fraction of the second he looked away. Then he’d called out to Zayn, eyes not straying from the green ones staring back at him, asking if perhaps he was smoking something stronger than weed.

The answer was unsurprising. The moment his eyes had locked with the ones below, the truth of what he was seeing had jolted through him with razor-sharp clarity. Yet a corner of his mind had balked, tempting him to dismiss the truth, to allow him to take refuge in a denial that would not force him to reorder the entire universe. For rejecting truths held for a lifetime takes a certain sort of courage; Louis had never thought of himself as particularly brave.

“Are you real?” he had asked, even though he knew the boy was.

The long, scaled tail swished slowly in the water, but the boy had otherwise remained motionless.

Again, Louis sought reassurance, even though he knew deep in his bones the world had shifted.

“Zayn, can you c’mere a minute? Got something to ask you.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Louis had regretted them. The boy’s eyes had widened and his pretty lips formed into an “o” of surprise, then with a splash he was gone, disappearing under the surface without a trace remaining. Louis leaned forward, scanning the water, anxiously trying to catch a glimpse beneath the waves, but there was no sign of the creature. It was almost as if he had never existed at all. With a sigh, Louis’ shoulders slumped.

“Never mind, Zayn,” he had shouted, eyes still moving over the water, back and forth, back and forth, out towards the horizon, searching. Finally, he had hung his head in defeat, letting out another frustrated sigh. But as he’d looked down, Louis spied a few droplets of water on his forearm, the result of the spray from the abrupt departure of his oceanic visitor. Lips curving into a small smile, he’d felt his mood immediately lighten. So not completely without a trace, then. He’d stared at the drops of beaded water for a few seconds, relishing their presence. Then raising the arm to his face, Louis had dipped his chin, parted his lips, and licked the droplets from his skin, tasting the sea on his tongue.

A buzzing from his pocket jolted Louis out of his reverie. Tea splashed over the side of his mug, and he shook the hot liquid from his hand, muttering a “shit” under his breath, wiping his fingers on his pyjama bottoms before fishing into his pocket for his phone. 

“Hello?”

“Lou, you’re awake. I was expecting to leave a message.” The surprise was evident in her voice. “Or haven’t you been to sleep yet?” 

Louis tensed. “I’ve been to sleep, Mum. Just woke up early. Having a cup of tea on the patio.”

“Hmm.” Louis had long since stopped wondering how she could inject that much judgement into one non-committal sound. He rolled his eyes.

“How are the girls?”

“You’d already know if you took the time to call them. Or better yet, got up to London every once in a while.”

Louis didn’t reply, knowing the futility of treading this familiar ground. 

His mother relented. “The girls are fine. The Headmistress tells me their marks are excellent this term. I’m sure they really miss their big brother.” She paused, letting her silence speak.

Louis ignored her obvious attempts to instill guilt. “How’s Dan?”

“That’s the reason I called, actually. He’s had something come up and we’ll be flying to Dubai for a few weeks. He thought you might like to join us. It’d be such a good opportunity—”

“Mum.” Louis cut her off.

“What, Lou?” she asked with impatience. “Do you have any other pressing matters to attend to?”

Louis remained silent.

“I thought not.” Louis braced for the rest. “When, exactly, are you planning to do something with your life? Besides hanging out with those friends of yours, of course, playing on that boat and drinking the days away. Or whatever else it is that you get up to with your time. I’m honestly not sure I want to know the details.”

Again, Louis didn’t respond.

“I think we’ve been more than patient with you. You know Dan’s eager to have you come along with him and learn the business.”

“I don’t want to learn the business. I told you that.”

“Well, you certainly don’t seem to want to learn anything else, either, do you now?”

A hot flash of shame spiked through him. Would he never live down his failed attempt at university? Were his shortcomings going to be thrown back in his face until the end of time? He was tempted to end the call with his mum then and there, but he knew that would cause more trouble than it was worth. Best to get the conversation over with, so he could be left in peace.

The silence lengthened between them. Finally, his mum spoke again, this time her voice taking on a softer edge. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Didn’t she? After a long pause, Louis said, “I know.” He didn’t. “It’s all right.” It really wasn’t.

A heavy sigh travelled across the line. “Dan only wants to help. It really would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

“Mum.”

“What? It would be.”

“We’ve already tried that. You know I was a disaster.”

“That was ages ago. And it was so soon after…” Her voice trailed off. “Maybe it’s time to give things another try.”

“It would end the same. You know it would.”

“Lou—”

“Mum.” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but they all knew what had happened the last time. He had bollocksed things up even more than he had at uni. He hadn’t understood any of it, and the harder he tried, the more confusing everything became until he’d stopped trying at all. His relationship with Dan had ended up severely strained, and he didn’t think he could endure another round of their disappointed looks when he’d inevitably fail again. Dan’s company was far better off without Louis Tomlinson. “It’s not going to happen.”

“You’ve got to do _something_.”

“I _know_.”

She sighed again. “When we get back, we’re going to all sit down and have a long chat about your future.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Louis shivered as a breeze chilled his bare arms. His eyes followed the path of a bird gliding above the water, watching as it dived down into the sea and emerged, a fish caught in its bill. 

Another sigh came across the line, resigned. “I’ll let Dan know you’re going to stay in England for the time being.”

“Okay.”

“Do try to get up to London and see your sisters.”

“All right. I’ll try.”

Another sigh was heavily weighted with the assumption he wouldn’t. “Is everything all right with the beach house?”

“Yes, everything’s fine here. I’ve told you I won’t wreck the place.” He couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of his voice.

“That’s not what I meant. Why must you—” He was almost surprised that she stopped short; he was already bracing for another litany of his shortcomings. Instead, his mum actually did surprise him. “Thanks for looking after the place.”

“Um… you’re welcome?”

She chuckled at his confusion, and the knot in his belly unravelled slightly. “I only want what’s best for you. I hate to see you waste— Never mind. If you change your mind, give me a ring.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” 

“But if you _do_ …”

Now he was chuckling. “All right, Mum. If I change my mind, which I won’t, I’ll give you a ring. Say hello to Dan for me.”

“All right.”

“And… um… tell him thank you.”

“Oh.” Now he’d surprised her. “I’ll certainly do that, love. Take care. Talk to you soon.”

“You too.” 

He pressed end on the call and slipped his phone into his pocket. His tea was almost too cool to enjoy, but he sipped it anyway. Pulling the phone back out, he scrolled through all the missed texts and messages he’d been ignoring. He really should call Liam and Zayn back. They’d rarely gone this long without speaking to one another. He stared at Zayn’s last guilt-inducing message:

_Everything ok? Li is going to send out a search party if we don’t hear from you mate._

Louis typed out a response: 

_Sorry. Lot on my mind. Everything’s fine. Tell him I’ll ring soon._

After the sending the text, he put his phone away again, sipped the last of his tea, and turned to go back inside. He did miss his friends. And he did plan to ring them soon.

But not just quite yet.

-o-

Louis steered the craft closer to the shore. For a moment he thought he’d heard… something. Maybe it was the wind playing tricks on him, although there really wasn’t much of a breeze. He cut the engine, listening, ears straining.

The entire day had been a repeat of the day before, and of the day before that. Of the whole week, actually. Each morning since he’d first seen the boy in the water, he’d awoken early, drank his tea, then set out on his boat, retracing the route he and the lads had taken, hoping to catch another glimpse of the beautiful creature. 

His shoulders were pink and his nose slightly peeling from the long days out on the water, but he had nothing else to show for his searching. Maybe he _had_ hallucinated the boy.

No. He knew that he hadn’t. He _knew_.

Cutting the engine, Louis listened closely. He was much farther east than they’d been that day, having been headed back to his family’s beach home on Poole Harbour’s Sandbanks peninsula, this time the Jurassic coast off the port bow instead of starboard. He wasn’t even sure what had caught his attention over the sound of the engine, but something had.

He let the boat drift while he grabbed his binoculars and made his way to the railing, scanning the water at cliff’s edge. He spied some puffins nesting high in the rocks and took a moment to enjoy the black and white birds with their brightly coloured beaks before continuing his search. A movement on the lower ledge of the old quarry caught his eye and his heart began to drum with nervous excitement. The strength of his disappointment surprised him when he realized the movement had just been a seal. Dancing Ledge was a popular spot for bird watchers, geologists, fossil hunters, and climbers alike, not to mention the many ferries that bypassed it daily as part of the popular boat tours of the Jurassic coast, England’s only World Heritage site. Why Louis thought he’d find his merboy here, he’d never know; besides, Durdle Dor was miles away from where he was now.

But to never find him, to never gaze into those glass-green eyes again was simply unthinkable. He hadn’t even begun to reach the point where he’d consider giving up looking. It had only been a week, after all.

Just then, the wind shifted and Louis’ ears caught the faintest of somethings, like music, yet unlike any music he’d ever heard, like the cliffs themselves were singing to him. The excitement was back, and his heartbeat increased its pace once more. But no matter how hard he strained to pick up the notes of the mysterious song, he was left with only the lapping of the waves and the call of the birds flying overhead. Maybe it had only been the wind blowing across the caves in the cliffs, he thought pragmatically. 

He stayed glued to the railing of his boat, however, even as the light grew dimmer, the oranges and yellows of the setting sun giving way to pink-greys, then simply a darker grey. Reluctant to leave the area, he decided he would just kip on the boat overnight. It’s not like he had anywhere to be.

“Are you there?” he called out in the chilling evening air, feeling foolish even as the words left his mouth.

The gentle slap-slap-slap of the water against the hull of his yacht was the only answer he received.

Finally, in the dimming evening light, he went back to the cockpit, checked the depth reading, mentally calculating the tides and how many metres of chain he’d need before moving to the bow and pressing the switch to initiate the windlass. Once the chain was let out, he tightened the winch, secured the chain stopper, set the anchor alarm, then retired to the cabin below.

Exhausted, Louis rinsed quickly in the shower, erasing the salt from his skin, then towelled himself off before dropping face first on the bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he could swear he heard the cliffs singing again.

Louis was up with the dawn, sipping his tea in the same spot he had occupied for so much time the previous evening. Something tethered him to this place. He knew there was a bathing pool on the lower ledge, blasted out by a headmaster of a nearby preparatory school in the late 1800s. At high tide, the pool was replenished with fresh, clear water from the sea. He and the lads had partaken in the traditional “strip and swim” numerous times in the past when Liam had been on a rock climbing lark, determined to scale every cliff face of the coast. There was no reason Louis couldn’t enjoy a little dip in the pool today. 

He didn’t hurry, knowing without letting the thought form fully in his mind that he would be here all day, and likely all night again, hoping to catch a reprise of the haunting song he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined. He rummaged in the galley for something to eat, settling on some eggs on toast. After checking the weather, tidying up from his breakfast, and replying to yet more anxious texts from Liam and Zayn, he changed into his swimming trunks and readied the tender from the aft locker.

-o-

A gentle breeze carrying the scent of the sea ruffled the fringe on Louis’ forehead. He breathed deeply, tipping his head back into the sunlight, elbows locked as his fingers dug into the grass behind him. His legs stretched before him, pointing towards the water, feet crossed at the ankles. When he tilted his head back down and opened his eyes, the Sunseeker was visible from his vantage point atop the cliffs, a tiny speck against the vastness of the ocean. He lifted his hand to his face, shutting one eye, and pinched the yacht between his thumb and pointer finger. “I crush you,” he said softly to himself, as he closed the gap, imagining the boat splintering into a million pieces.

Laughing at himself, he sat up cross-legged and rested his elbows on his knees, surveying the hummocky swells of grass dotted with small yellow flowers, the path at the curve of cliff’s edge, the huge expanse of ocean before him. 

He’d climbed that path earlier after spending most of the day exploring Dancing Ledge. He’d walked over the prickle bed, examining the fossilized ammonites embedded in the stone. He’d had a dip in the bathing pool—several, actually. He’d studied the deep ruts that had been carved into the lower ledge, originally built for the old stone-filled carts to carry their cargo down to the waiting ships at sea. To the west were the sea caves, and to the east, Green Point, an algae-covered section of cliff, which received runoff from a spring above.

Louis had climbed the path to the upper ledge, finding more to explore. The old quarry itself had long since been closed up; however, grates had been placed over some of the old mine openings to allow bats to come and go as they pleased. The cliffs of the area were the draw for many, climbers and geologists alike, with their layers of shrimp bed, limestone, and clay among the various striations of rock. There was even a natural cave.

Eventually, Louis had climbed up farther to the walking paths above, following Smuggler’s Path to Spyway Barn. On the way to Langton Matravers, the parish from which many accessed Dancing Ledge by foot, he had passed the carving of the stone cow, a landmark near the old bull field where smugglers used to hide casks of brandy and gin. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for so far from the water, but the weather was gorgeous and he was easily bored. Exploring seemed the thing to do. Not wanting to get too far from his yacht, he had turned back to sit on top of the world, killing time until the sun’s descent, hoping the cliff’s walls would deign to sing to him again.

-o-

Louis rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he fumbled for his phone buzzing next to his head. He was surprised any battery remained, even with the multiple chargers he’d stored on board.

“What?” he answered after seeing Zayn’s name on the display, too groggy to muster anything more coherent.

“Where the fuck are you, mate?” Music blared in the background.

“In my fucking bed.” He didn’t mention the bed was the one on his yacht. 

“Oh, ho. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I? That why you’re so cross? Li,” Zayn shouted. “Think Tommo’s got himself a new boyfriend.” 

“That certainly explains a lot.” Liam response was faint, but audible. 

“Put him on the phone,” Zayn demanded.

“Fuck off,” Louis retorted. “What’s up? Why’d you call?” 

“Besides the fact that you’ve completely ignored all my texts and calls for weeks? Though I suppose it makes complete sense now. I hope you’re being safe and making him wrap it up.”

“Seriously, fuck off.” 

“Come on. Put him on the line. Let me talk to him.” 

“Christ, you’re an arse. What do you want, anyway?” 

“Just having the lads over—little impromptu get together. Thought you might join us. Bring your new friend. Love to meet whoever’s got you ignoring your best mates for so long. Must have quite the nice dick.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, wait. Wait.”

“What?” 

“You should come over, with or without your friend. Liam misses you.” 

Louis knew that was Zayn’s way of saying he missed Louis. “I can’t tonight.” 

“C’mon, Lou. You can’t spare one night away for your mates?” 

“I’d have to shower and change and it’s already half twelve.” The excuse sounded flimsy, even to him.

“You know it’s not healthy to isolate yourself from your friends when you get into a relationship.” 

“I’m not in a relationship. Christ.” 

“Sex haze, then. Whatever.”

“It’s not a—“

“Fine, fine.” Zayn cut him off. “You’re not ready to define things. I understand completely. The point remains. You need your mates, and your mates need you.”

Louis could hear the underlying sincerity of Zayn’s words, discernible through the flippant tone. They’d been friends long enough for Louis to understand why Zayn spent so much of his time high on weed and why Zayn might be worried if Louis was getting in too deep too fast. They didn’t have many secrets between them.

“Tell you what. I’ll definitely come round later this week.”

“Promise?” Louis knew Zayn would be knocking down his door if he didn’t keep his word.

“Promise.”

“Sure I can’t persuade you to drag that gorgeous arse of yours out of bed tonight?” 

“I’m quite sure. Tonight’s just not a good night. Next time.”

“I’ll hold you to that. You’ve been ghost long enough.”

“I know you will. Tell Liam hey for me.”

“Will do. Take care, okay, mate?”

“Yeah. You too. Have fun.”

Louis pressed the end button and turned off his phone to preserve what little battery he had left before setting it on the bedside table. He stared up at the ceiling of the cabin, arms crossed behind his head, hoping the gentle rocking of the waves could calm his thoughts, suddenly in overdrive. Letting them believe he was involved in a new relationship wasn’t a bad idea, to be honest. He could hardly explain what was actually taking up all his time, after all. What would he say? Sorry, the real reason I can’t spend time with you is, well, there’s this merman…. No, best to keep that bit to himself.

This was his fifth—or was it sixth?—night he’d spent out on the boat. At this point, he’d got almost a sort of routine down. He’d stuck to Dancing Ledge and the surrounding vicinity that entire first day, hoping to stumble across… something, something tangible to convince him he wasn’t on a fool’s errand. Instead, he held only the wisps of a song in his head, and even that might be the product of his own overactive imagination. 

The next day onwards, he’d traveled the coast again, west to Lulworth Cove, past Durdle Dor, even as far as Weymouth. There was no sign of the creature. In the late afternoon, he always returned to Dancing Ledge, anchoring the Sunseeker and going ashore to take a dip in the bathing pool, sunning himself on the rocks before the air started to chill. At night he sat on the deck, sipping a beer or two or a glass of wine, and listened. A few times Louis had thought he’d heard the strange melody again, but he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his own mind playing tricks on him.

Unable to fall back asleep after Zayn’s call, Louis threw off the sheet and went to the galley to make some tea. When it was ready, he returned to his familiar post by the rail, staring out into the night towards shore. He listened, but heard nothing save the sound of the sea.

“Where _are_ you?” he asked the night sky.

-o-

Louis cracked one eye open and groaned at the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. From the slant of the light, he could tell it was later than the usual time he’d been waking, not surprising as he’d swapped out whisky for the tea after the first cuppa. He’d have a bit of a headache today—more than a bit, most likely. Lying in bed, he pondered life and the various ways in which his had gone wrong. He vaguely recalled his foolish antics from the night before, belting out songs to the cliffsides while begging them to sing something back.

If his mer friend had been anywhere in the vicinity, Louis had likely scared him off for good.

Stumbling to the lavatory, he took a piss then dug through the cabinets for some paracetamol. He grabbed a bottle of water in the galley to wash them down before poking around for something to eat—cold cereal, a bagel, a few pieces of fruit. Was there nothing with a little grease available? What he could really go for was a full English, but there weren’t even any eggs left to cook up. 

It’s not like he was giving up, he told himself. He needed to refuel and stock up on food. Plus there was that promise to Zayn, and he really should check on the house. No sense getting his mum angry at him again. It wouldn’t hurt him to drive up to London to see the girls, either, as his mother had urged him to do.

Instead of starting up the engine and pulling up anchor, Louis pottered around the boat, straightening the bed clothes, tidying the galley, putting all the recyclables in the bin. His reluctance to leave had no basis in logic. He’d been searching almost two weeks with nothing to show for his efforts but a maybe-melody. He should just head towards home. Yet he stayed, held to the area by a pull he didn’t quite understand.

The sun’s glare grew relentless and he searched for his aviators to block its harsh rays, growing frustrated before he vaguely remembered placing them in a crook in the rocks near the bathing pool alongside his towel. That settles that, he thought, glad of an excuse to stay a little longer. He’d just have to make one last trip to land.

Not too much later, Louis was dragging the tender ashore, giving one last look around Dancing Ledge before heading back to the Sandbanks peninsula. The rocky cliffside rose before him and his senses were full of the magic of the place, the smell of salt in his nose, the sun bearing down on his shoulders, the breeze caressing his bare skin. Listening closely, he thought he heard the strange growl-like call of the puffins in their burrows. For a moment he wondered if maybe he hadn’t mistaken their unique sound with the melody that continually teased his mind. But no, they weren’t the same at all. 

He’d be back, he was sure. He wasn’t going to give up, and somehow, he still thought Dancing Ledge held the key. One last dip, he told himself, then it was time to go home. 

Louis picked his way across the rocks, carefully placing his feet on the prickled bed. He made his way to the west side of the bathing pool, higher up, where one of the dips in the nodular surface formed almost into the shape of a bowl. He stilled when he reached the spot, heart skipping a beat before pounding furiously. His aviators were gone, but something had been left in their place.

He squatted down to pick up the object resting in the concave dip of rock, holding it up in the sunlight, hands trembling slightly as he examined it. The shape was a fish’s skeleton, slightly longer than the length of his hand, skull still attached. The bones were smooth and hard as stone. Where its eye had been, the hollow was now set with a huge green gemstone. In his gut Louis knew he was holding something of immense value, an emerald, he didn’t doubt. He turned the strange object over and over in his hands, puzzling out what it reminded him of. Then something stirred from memory. He was sitting on his mother’s lap, a little boy. She was reading to him from a book of fairy tales. He was fascinated by the illustrations on the page, one in particular. A beautiful mermaid was holding an object similar to the one in his hand. She was running it through her long, auburn hair. 

A comb. He was holding a mermaid’s comb.

-o-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
